


Ten Apiece

by wellthengetouttathesoupaisle



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst, M/M, it's a twinyard birthday fic!!, kinda creepy, lmao nope it's a deathday fic enjoy, the cats all make appearances, wooo!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 15:49:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12634248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wellthengetouttathesoupaisle/pseuds/wellthengetouttathesoupaisle
Summary: “Huh,” Andrew snorts, and Neil leans over his shoulder to see that his calendar app is open, and tomorrow’s date has been marked. November 4th.“Why’d you mark your birthday? Do you want to do something after all?”“I marked that date a while ago,” Andrew says dully. “I didn’t know what it meant then.”Neil’s breath catches in his throat. “And what does it mean now?”Andrew promptly closes the app. “It means nothing.”But it means something.





	Ten Apiece

**Author's Note:**

> anyway,,,i don't do fluff and happiness so yes, you're getting a deathday fic on the twin's birthday

The creak of the wooden floorboards beneath the layer of ugly carpet they’ve yet to tear out and replace from their bedroom is what wakes Neil in the middle of the night. He sits up in bed, squinting blearily at their clock first—it reads 3:06 a.m.—before blinking several times to adjust to the darkness of the room.

The floorboards stopped creaking when Neil woke, and he immediately glances to his right to confirm what he already knows—Andrew is no longer in bed. A wrinkled depression in the white sheets and a dent in the pillow mark his absence.

Andrew stands by the bedroom door, hand poised over the knob as though he’s preparing to leave. Neil gives him a tired smile, though he doubts he can see it in the dark.

“Where’re you headed?” He murmurs quietly. The sound of his voice seems muffled in their carpeted bedroom, thick drapes and soft blankets soaking up the noise.

Andrew doesn’t say anything, fingers lowering slightly to twine around the doorknob. His eyes look black in the faint moonlight trickling through slightly parted shades.

Neil frowns, kicking to free his legs from the tangle of sheets, and makes to get out of bed. “Andrew? Are you okay? Is it a nightmare?”

Andrew finally responds, his posture forcibly relaxing, and he says in an even voice, “Stay in bed, Neil.”

Neil pauses, his calves dangling over the edge of the mattress. “Are you sure? I don’t want—”

Andrew’s other hand moves to the pocket of his sleep pants, and Neil can make out a distinct rectangular shape protruding from the fabric. He pulls out the packet of cigarettes and holds them up like they explain everything. “Stay in bed. I’ll be back soon.”

Neil hesitates, half of him wanting to follow after Andrew and make sure he’s alright, and the other half chastising himself for refusing Andrew his space. Finally, he shrugs lightly and lies back down, folding his hands behind his head and propping himself up on his pillow. “Don’t forget we have practice tomorrow morning.”

He waits for Andrew to call him a junkie. Andrew does not. Instead, the door swings open and shut, and Andrew is gone.

Neil sighs and stares up at the ceiling. It’s a sea of blackness, the edges of moonlight that make it through their window eaten up and swallowed whole. He glances at the clock. 3:08 a.m.

Andrew will be back soon.

He closes his eyes for as long as he can, and then opens them again. 3:12 a.m.

Neil sits up again in bed and peers out their bedroom window. The porch light is usually illuminated whenever Andrew goes out for a late night smoke. Tonight, it’s as black as the rest of their street. Both cars are still in the driveway.

“Andrew?” He calls quietly. He’s sure he heard the front door squeak open and click shut, which would indicate that Andrew is no longer inside the house. But the lights are off, the cars are parked, and the moon is doing a poor job of providing enough glow for Neil to see by.

He frowns, rubs his neck, debates going to search for him. In the end, he doesn’t, because Andrew told him not to and Andrew is probably fine.

Andrew does not come back soon.

—

When Neil wakes up again at 6:17 in the morning, the wrinkled bed sheets and the indented pillow look the same as they did in the night. He touches the sheets. They’re cold.

A tiny seed of panic springs up in Neil’s chest, rooting its way into his stomach and wiggling up into his throat, but he pushes it down because it’s been _years_ since anything awful has happened and life has been so good it’s almost surreal. Instead he rolls out of bed and crams his feet into the fox slippers Renee sent him last Christmas before padding softly down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Andrew is sitting at their dining room table, nursing a cup of steaming coffee. He looks freshly showered, hair damp and sticking up from where he must have carelessly rubbed it dry. Neil gives him a tentative smile and slides into the seat across from him.

“Long night?”

Andrew doesn’t grace him with an answer, staring hard into his coffee mug like he expects something to burst out of it. His skin has a slight grayish tinge, Neil notices.

“Andrew,” he tries again, gentler this time, because if Andrew is having a bad day, Neil doesn’t want to prod. “Do you need to skip practice today?”

Andrew lets out a breath, long and slow, and it’s like he’s deflating. Neil frowns and reaches across the table, pausing before his hand covers Andrew’s. “Yes or no?”

Andrew drags his gaze from his mug to Neil’s scarred knuckles, and it looks like it’s taking more willpower than he has to keep his eyes focused. “Yes,” he answers after a moment’s delay, and Neil ghosts his fingers over the back of Andrew’s hand.

Andrew shudders and closes his eyes, coffee mug tipping dangerously on the table edge as his grip loosens. “It’s always yes with you,” he adds, and then opens his eyes and stares at Neil, startled.

Neil is equally surprised. “That’s my li—”

“That’s not right,” Andrew says at the same time. He looks momentarily confused. “Never mind.”

There’s a silence that stretches for two, five, ten minutes, and then Neil leans back in his chair, trying to hide his bewilderment. “Well,” he tries, attempting neutrality. “I’d better get ready for practice, or the coach will throw a fit. I’ll let him know you’re sick today.”

Andrew’s gaze refocuses and he rolls his eyes at Neil. “Fucking junkie,” he snorts, and then it’s all normal again, and Neil can grin mischievously as he snags Andrew’s mug and dumps it in the sink, grabs his car keys from the hook on the dish cabinet, and walks out the door.

—

“This one,” Neil says appreciatively, poking his finger through the bars of the cage and watching the furry black kitten tussle with it. “Look—hey Andrew, look at this one.”

Andrew is preoccupied with something in his wallet and barely bothers glancing up. “Cute.”

“You have to _look_ ,” Neil grins, nudging at Andrew’s shoe with his own. “You’re missing the best sight since King Fluffkins hacked up a hairball on Nicky’s pants. Andrew. _Andrew_. Look.”

Andrew sighs and looks. The kitten gnaws at Neil’s finger.

“Well? What’s your opinion? Are we getting this one or not?”

Andrew stalls for time by rifling through his wallet again. Neil rolls his eyes and shoots the lady assisting them an apologetic look. She gives him a friendly smile and an amused shake of her head.

The kitten—its name is Lola, he reads (a name he will most definitely be changing)—bats at his finger with a tiny paw. Neil wiggles it back and forth and she goes wild in her attempt to pin it down.

Andrew seems to realize he can’t outlast Neil and shoves his wallet into his pocket with a sigh. He gives the rest of the animal-filled room a cursory glance before stepping forward and leaning his face closer to the bars to get a better look.

“This is the last one we’re getting,” he warns. Neil nods hastily and the lady chuckles.

“We’ll take her,” Neil tells the lady, and she nods appreciatively.

“She’s a good choice. Real energetic, brings a lot of life to anyone around her.”

“That’s always a good thing,” Neil agrees, and unlatches the cage door to gather the kitten in his arms. She digs her claws into his shirt and climbs up his chest, nosing around his mouth. He lightly kisses the top of her head.

Andrew watches on, unimpressed, as the lady coos at both Neil and the kitten. “Lola seems to like you a lot already!”

Neil winces. “Uh, yes. She does.”

“Can you grab the forms?” Andrew asks quickly, though not impolitely.

“Of course!” The lady beams, and hurries out of the room, leaving Neil and Andrew alone and surrounded by meowing cats.

The kitten curls up in Neil’s arms and presses her warm, purring body against his chest. Neil grins in delight. “Do you want to hold her, Andrew?”

Andrew starts to shake his head, then gives a furtive look around the room to confirm they’re alone, and nods. “Here, hand over the fleabag.”

“Fleabag,” Neil hums thoughtfully. “I was thinking something more along the lines of Queen Elizabeth.”

“Awful name,” Andrew doesn’t hesitate to remark, and Neil snorts as he passes the kitten over. She meows in protest as she’s pulled away from her comfortable spot on Neil’s chest, but Andrew takes her into his arms anyway.

The kitten goes absolutely still. She hangs tensely from the crook of Andrew’s arm, eyes wide and pupils narrowed to mere slits. Andrew frowns down in puzzlement, and Neil furrows his brow in dismay. “Hey, is she—”

Then the kitten begins to struggle frantically, pitiful meows tearing themselves from her throat as she scrabbles desperately at Andrew’s arm. She manages to wiggle out of his loose grasp and all but throws herself back at Neil.

He catches her before she plummets to the floor, and she hooks her tiny claws into his shirt and continues meowing in distress. Neil stares at Andrew, wide-eyed. “The hell? Why’d she—?”

There’s a flash of a certain— _look_ —across Andrew’s face, but it smooths out almost immediately. He settles for an even stare at Neil’s face and asks in a careful tone, “What day is it?”

“Friday—”

“No,” Andrew cuts him off. “What day of the _month_ is it?”

“November 1st,” Neil replies, feeling somewhat worried. “Why?”

Andrew opens his mouth and closes it. He levels a glance at the kitten, who’s settled a bit into Neil’s arms, but is eyeing Andrew with keen distrust.

“I—” he begins, and then the lady returns to the room with a small stack of papers and a pen, which she hands to Andrew.

“Here we are,” she says cheerily. “Fill these out and you’ll be good to go.”

Andrew nods and takes the papers, turning his back to Neil as he leans over a low table to fill them out. Neil waits, staring at the tense line in his shoulders and the tightness of his fingers around the pen. There is something wrong—there has to be.

Andrew thrusts the papers back towards the lady, who accepts them with a startled look. “Oh my—well—thank you for coming in today. Give us a call if you need anything.”

Andrew barely inclines his head at her before tugging on Neil’s collar. “Let’s go. We’re leaving.”

“Do you need a cat carrier?” The lady calls worriedly as they rushed out of the room. Neil shoots her an apologetic look over his shoulder, but he doesn’t have time to tell her they’ve got one in the car, because Andrew has long since dragged him from the building.

“Andrew, what the hell?” Neil asks once they’re seated in the car, the kitten curled up neatly in his lap. Andrew keeps his eyes on the road, mouth set in a straight line. “What’s with you?”

“We were supposed to have more time,” Andrew says vaguely. He doesn’t elaborate.

Neil waits. The kitten curls deeper into his lap. Andrew is quiet.

“Andrew,” Neil tries again. The golden afternoon light shines through the car window, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones and jaw so that they seem more prominent, defined. For a moment, Neil imagines that Andrew’s skin is translucent, the distinguished bones nothing more than a skull’s protrusions, but then he blinks and the image is gone.

“I’ll tell you,” Andrew says, and for the first time in his life Neil can hear a touch of desperation. “Later, I promise. Give me time. Just—” he waves a distraught hand aimlessly. “Give me more time.”

He doesn’t sound like he’s talking to Neil.

—

On November 3rd, it thunderstorms and practice is cancelled. Andrew and Neil stay home that day, curled up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and the cats, watching the rerun of their last game.

Well, Neil is watching the game. Andrew is staring glassily at the screen, hardly bothering with the popcorn at all. Sir Fat Cat Mccatterson, King Fluffkins, and the kitten, who they’ve officially named Queen Elizabeth, all sit nestled next to Neil, and Queen Elizabeth tilts her head to study Andrew from time to time.

They still haven’t discussed Andrew’s mood the other day, or the reason that Andrew looks gray and smudgy and half-ready to keel over any moment. Neil had tried to bring it up yesterday, but a look so dark crossed Andrew’s face, he let it drop.

The volume on the TV is down, and the low drone of the commentators blends with the steady tap of rain on the window. Neil crunches on a piece of popcorn and considers.

“It’s your birthday tomorrow,” he says.

Andrew’s unfocused eyes slide over to look at him. The fur on Queen Elizabeth’s neck bristles.

Outside, the rain picks up, going from a consistent _tap-tap_ to a rapid _tap tap tap tap_. Neil feels the slightest bit uncomfortable. “Do you want to do anything?” He asks.

Andrew slowly shakes his head. Queen Elizabeth hisses. “Shh,” Neil tells her.

“I don’t like that cat,” Andrew mumbles. “She’s a demon.”

Neil rolls his eyes. “She’s a kitten.”

“A demon,” Andrew repeats, eyes narrowed. He lets his gaze linger on her raised fur before drifting back to the TV.

They sit in silence for a few minutes longer. The rain slows again, and the TV gets a bit more audible. Neil tries to focus on the game, but can’t.

Finally, he gets to his feet. Andrew shoots him a questioning look, and Neil responds with, “Bathroom.”

He goes to the bathroom, but once he’s in there he pulls his phone from his pocket and dials a number he hasn’t called in years.

“Hello?” A female voice says, strange and hardly familiar. Neil’s eyes narrow.

“Katelyn?”

“Neil? Is this Neil?”

“It is,” Neil replies. “I thought this was Aaron’s number.”

“Oh! It is,” Katelyn says, and there’s a hint of tiredness in her voice that Neil senses. “Aaron’s not feeling well. He doesn’t want anything to do with his phone.”

“Oh,” Neil replies, then waits awkwardly. He’s never been entirely comfortable holding a conversation with Katelyn. “Well, can I talk to him? It’ll only take a minute. I just want to ask him—something.”

“Um,” Katelyn says doubtfully. “I guess you can. If he’ll take the phone.”

Her breathing cuts off from the line, and Neil can hear her moving through her house and the low murmuring as she speaks to someone, probably Aaron. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, leaning against the bathroom sink.

Katelyn comes back to the phone. “Hey, so he’s not up for talking. He’s _really_ not feeling well,” she says meaningfully, and Neil can tell she’d prefer he hung up. But there’s one thing he needs to know, first.

“Wait, just ask him—ask him—is there anything significant about these recent dates? His and Andrew’s birthday, maybe? Can you please ask him that?”

There’s a pause, and then Katelyn sighs. “Yeah, just a sec.”

There’s more murmuring, and a few staticky thuds that comes when a phone changes hands, and then Aaron’s voice is in his ear. “Fuck off, Neil.”

Neil winces, pulling the phone away from his head. Aaron hasn’t been this openly hostile in ages. “Aaron, can you just tell me—”

“I’m not in the mood,” Aaron says, and Neil swears he hears his voice crack. “Look, just stop—stop asking—quit digging around and just let it _happen—_ ”

“Let _what_ happen?” Neil presses, feeling something constrict in his throat. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“We both thought we had—” Aaron starts, and then the phone clicks off and Neil’s met with only silence.

“Aaron? Aaron?”

The bathroom suddenly feels too small, and Neil is hit with the overwhelming urge to run back to Andrew. There’s something clawing at his stomach, struggling to get out, and it fills him with an irrational fear to get to Andrew, get to Andrew, _get to Andrew—_

He bursts back into the sitting room, chest heaving, to see Andrew tucked into his same spot on the couch, fiddling with his phone. Andrew looks up when he re-enters, one unimpressed eyebrow raised. “What?”

“I,” Neil starts, and then realizes how silly his fear sounds. “I thought you were going to—”

_Disappear._

But he doesn’t say it. Instead he sits back down on the couch and finishes with a neat, “—eat the rest of the popcorn.”

“Huh,” Andrew snorts, and Neil leans over his shoulder to see that his calendar app is open, and tomorrow’s date has been marked. November 4th.

“Why’d you mark your birthday? Do you want to do something after all?”

“I marked that date a while ago,” Andrew says dully. “I didn’t know what it meant then.”

Neil’s breath catches in his throat. “And what does it mean now?”

Andrew promptly closes the app. “It means nothing.”

But it means something.

—

The sound of someone wheezing heavily and thrashing around on the mattress is what wakes Neil in the middle of the night. He sits up in bed, squinting blearily at their clock first—it reads 3:06 a.m.—before blinking several times to adjust to the darkness of the room.

Beside him, springs squeal as Andrew claws his way out from under the sheets, crashing out of bed and stumbling towards the door.

“ _Andrew!_ ” Neil hisses, and is out of bed like a shot. He somehow gets to the light switch before Andrew gets to the door, and the sudden light is murder on his eyes.

Andrew bowls into him, slamming Neil into the doorframe and scrambling for the knob like his life depends on it. His eyes look black.

They _are_ black.

“We were supposed to have more time,” he gasps, and he doesn’t sound like Andrew. He sounds like—something else.

“What are you talking ab—” Neil gets out, before Andrew slams into him again. It’s like he doesn’t even see him.

“Ten apiece,” Andrew rambles wildly. “That’s all we got. My fault. It was mine.”

“Ten—”

“ _Years_ ,” Andrew chokes out, and then he’s gone out the door, leaving a bruised and battered Neil on his hands and knees.

Blood roars through Neil’s head. He staggers to his feet and chases after him, down the dark hall. Andrew’s figure flickers like a ghost’s, there and not there, solid and translucent. Outside, thunder booms in explosive blasts, and discharges of blue lightning make the entire house flash with spasms of electricity.

“Andrew!” Neil yells, but his voice is swallowed up by the chaos outside. Something coils around his ankles and he nearly trips. It’s Queen Elizabeth— _Lola_ , his mind supplies wildly—and she stares up at him with glowing blue eyes.

“Move,” Neil gasps, barely refraining from kicking her out of the way. She slithers away like a black snake, like she was never there to begin with, and Neil doesn’t stop to marvel. He stumbles down the hall, following the tail end of Andrew’s blond head as it whips around the corner and lurches down the stairs.

Neil skids around the corner and thunders down the stairs. He can’t hear Andrew’s footsteps—it’s like they aren’t there at all. Andrew reaches the bottom stair and heads towards the front door, flinging it open so that the wind can howl through, sending buffeting torrents of rain into the house.

He stops in front of it and stares out at the dark street, and the shapeless masses of trees that fling their branches wildly from side to side. Neil jerks to a halt right behind him, gasping for air.

“Andrew!”

Andrew turns to face him, water coursing down his face in icy sheets. His skin looks gray. His eyes are black. His hair is so blonde it’s practically white. He’s a monochrome mess, colorless tones blending and melting into one another so that it looks like he’s fading.

“I fucked it up,” he says to Neil. “For the both of us.”

“Us?” Neil demands, his heart beating out of his chest.

“The car crash,” Andrew continues, and his lips are a sodden mass of grayscale. “We died. Not me. Not me, though. I took her life. And then I split it with Aaron, because that’s how it works when you’re twins. Ten apiece.”

“Ten—”

“I didn’t know it would only be ten,” Andrew says mournfully, and it’s so unlike Andrew that Neil wants to...to cry, to scream, to grab him and shake him until he comes back. The water on his face mixes with the black in his eyes and cuts inky trails down his cheeks.

“Andrew, listen—”

“If I’d known, I wouldn’t have taken the deal. I would have died like I should have.”

The wind shrieks and a fresh wave of rain cascades in, soaking the floor thoroughly. At some point, Lola has reappeared and is perched on the glass table beside the door, staring at the both of them with her blue eyes.

“November 4th. Happy fucking birthday to me.” He grins dangerously, and it cuts through his face like a knife, the realest thing about him at that moment. Neil is paralyzed to the spot. “I knew it would be one of them. Guess it’s this one.”

There’s a sudden terrible certainty, a sudden state of _knowing_ that washes over Neil at that moment, and he knows exactly where this is going, as impossible as it may seem.

At that moment, he doesn’t care about boundaries, doesn’t care about yes or no. His brain short-circuits, stutters, and then subsequently implodes as he latches onto Andrew, nothing else running through his mind except for _stay, stay, stay_.

Andrew shudders violently in his grasp, and then melts away, blacks and whites and grays dissolving into a matterless fog and washing away with the rain.

Neil’s mouth opens in a soundless scream and he clutches empty air, wheezing air dissipating from his lungs and leaving him breathless. Lola’s tail flickers and her head tilts to one side.

 _Death,_ Neil thinks. _Death, death, death._

“Andrew!” He screams uselessly into the rain.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


But that’s all there is.

**Author's Note:**

> ...sorry?
> 
> wow why does everything always feel rushed when i write?? why does it feel like stuff never flows naturally?? is it because i do my editing late at night when i should be sleeping??? probably


End file.
